Ted Berrigan

Frank O'Hara - Poem by Ted Berrigan

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Winter in the country, Southampton, pale horseas the soot rises, then settles, over the picturesThe birds that were singing this morning have shut upI thought I saw a couple kissing, but Larry said noIt’s a strange bird. He should know. & I think now“Grandmother divided by monkey equals outer space.” Ronput me in that picture. In another picture, a good-looking poet is thinking it over, nevertheless, he willnever speak of that it. But, his face is open, his eyesare clear, and, leaning lightly on an elbow, fist belowhis ear, he will never be less than perfectly frank,listening, completely interested in whatever there maybe to hear. Attentive to me alone here. Between friends,nothing would seem stranger to me than true intimacy.What seems genuine, truly real, is thinking of you, howthat makes me feel. You are dead. And you’ll neverwrite again about the country, that’s true.But the people in the sky really loveto have dinner & to take a walk with you.

Comments about Frank O'Hara by Ted Berrigan

Frank Avon said it all in his Frank comment about Frank O'Hara. When I first saw the poem, I thought it was very strange, but I've never read any of O'Hara's work before (at least not that I can remember) so you probably have to be familiar with his work to fully appreciate this. I will have to look at some of O'Hara's poems.
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I think this poem is a true tribute to Frank O'Hara; it is also a true tribute to all (such) poetry. He will never be less than pefectly Frank. The style of the poem is imitative of O'Hara's style, and thus a true tribute of the simplest order. Though it doesn't quite live up to O'Hara, what does raise it above many such efforts are the lines/passages that speak to others of us in quite different situations. How very many of us, for example, have friends (or have lost friends) who 'are completely interested in whatever there may / be to hear'? How very many of us have friends (or have lost friends) of whom we might say, 'What seems genuine, truly real, is thinking of you, how / that makes me feel.' This poem is an elegy not in the least elegiac. How very many of us have lost friends, colleagues and beloved ones of whom we often say to ourselves, 'But the people in the sky really love / to have dinner & to take a walk with you.' To be perfectly Frank, I think that's be best eulogy of all. And aren't most of us, after all, 'people of the sky' when we walk the sidewalks of NYC with Frank O'Hara and enjoy lunch with him not far from his Museum of Modern Art?
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